


i don't want to be loved

by Wildcard



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Blood, Death, First Time Meeting, Gore, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildcard/pseuds/Wildcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love in Noxus is a dangerous thing but then, Talon and Vlad are dangerous people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't want to be loved

In Noxus, everyone runs away from the sound of screaming.

They pull their hoods up, they quicken their steps, they hasten away from the sound of a death taking too long.

Talon is an assassin. Death is his business. The screams call to him as surely as a siren’s song and he runs over the rooftops, surefooted and swift, until he’s crouched on the gutter that runs along the edge of the roof. The shadows conceal him, stealing the shine from his blades and leeching the red from his scarf.

There is red enough on the street below. A man clothed all in red laughs and gestured with clawed fingers that the moonlight silvers in the same way it gilts his hair; each motion of his hand draws blood into the air, dancing trails of crimson fluid that obey the slightest flick of his fingers. The bodies around him jerk and twist with the ugly gracelessness of marionettes; their mouths open and blood streams out, rising high into the air and fountaining back down through not a single drop is allowed to touch the ground.

One man somehow regains control of himself and bolts for the mouth of the alleyway.

Right before he’d escape, his body comes up short as if he ran into a glass wall. The crack of his bones snapping echo loudly and he falls back, twists over and crawls to the red-clothed man. Each step makes the bones of his knees stab into the ground and the trail he leaves behind is as scarlet as Talon’s scarf. He sprawls out on his stomach and coughs blood up over the other’s boots.

“Please,” he pleads, voice hoarse and breathing labored, “Please, just let me go, I’ve got kids and my wife’s dead, there’ll be no one to take care o’em if I die too, they’ll starve–”

“Don’t worry,” the man interrupts and his voice is low and silken, so confident that Talon feels a thrill run down his spine. He would love to kill this man.

“I’ll make sure they don’t die of hunger,” the killer promises.

There’s enough light for Talon to see how the man’s eyes widen with frightened understanding before they wrinkle over and shrink inwards. Skin clings to bone and the corpses turn into skeletons with only the thinnest coating of skin left over them while blood dances, dances, dances to the killer’s command.

Like ribbons, he whips the blood through the air, twirling strands through and over each other. It courses freely and wildly, free of the bodies that had contained it and Talon’s mouth is dry both at its beauty and the man’s shining eyes. It can’t be a trick of the light that makes them blood-red, bright as Talon’s own. Surely someone who commands blood like that must have the eyes to match.

The man looks straight up at the roof and smiles, sharp as one of Talon’s own blades, and Talon feels a pang in his heart. Is the man drawing out his own blood? Manipulating Talon? His heartbeat’s erratic and too quick. He must be under attack. He must not smile back.

He does anyway.

“Enjoying the show?” The man asks and Talon nods. Communication does not come easily to him at most times and now, his tongue feels too large for his mouth, so dry and swollen that it must be protruding over his lips.

“It’s so nice to know my efforts weren’t in vein. Would you like to star in the next performance?” The man’s laughter caresses the air as he gestures for Talon to come down, the crook of his fingers an unmistakable command. Talon misses the pun, too busy staring down at the most beautiful, deadly thing he’s ever seen.

He should run. He should be smart because only smart boys survive.

He drops off the roof instead and slashes with his blade in the direction of the man.

He is deadly in his own right. He will make this man see it.

And then he will make this man his because he is a weapon, as lethal and lovely as any of Talon’s own blades and in all of Noxus, only Talon so loves weapons more than people.

The man dissolves into a puddle of blood before Talon’s blade touches him and Talon drops to his knees, following him down and laps at the blood like a dog. It stains his lips red and travels down his throat with all the intoxicating power of alcohol and none of its burn.

The blood surges away and Talon chases it, ending up on his knees when the man reforms and scowls down at Talon. His earlier humor is gone and he’s clutching at his chest with those clawed fingers.

“You just ate part of my heart,” he hisses and crooks his fingers in readiness to attack.

Talon finds himself laughing, still kneeling, still looking up at this man of silver and blood and death. He’s never wanted anything this badly since he was a starving street urchin. He’s never felt everything in him lean towards another person, sure as mercury finding another drop of its own kind. Perhaps it’s the shock of knowing he’s not alone but Talon can’t stop laughing and after a few seconds, the man joins in.

“Next time,” he promises, when he can get the breathless words out. “Next time I’ll take it all."

Their laughter combines and rings above the streets of Noxus, more terrifying by far than the screams were.


End file.
